


Last Hope

by totheendoftheworldortime79



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Post Season 7, mentions of past cersei/jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 02:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totheendoftheworldortime79/pseuds/totheendoftheworldortime79
Summary: Post Season 7. Jaime arrives at Winterfell, bearing news of his sister's betrayal. His only hope for not being killed on sight? Brienne of Tarth.





	Last Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another Jaime arrives at Winterfell fic! I just couldn't help myself after rewatching the series. I'm sure it's been done a bajillion times, but who does want more J/B goodness? I haven't written them in forever and not for the show versions of them. Please be kind. Enjoy!

Numb. He was numb. The barren Northern landscape reflected his heart. Both carried the same depressing sense of loneliness, of lost hope. The last time Jaime Lannister rode up the Kingsroad he’d been whole, arrogant, supremely confident in he and his family’s superiority over the humble Northern bumpkins they were about to encounter. That Jaime was dead. He couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, although the loss of his hand was an obvious beginning.

The old Jaime wouldn’t be on a horse in the dead of winter, racing toward people who despised him. People who would probably kill him on sight. Especially _her_ , the one they called the Mother of Dragons. Born on Dragonstone after the Mad King ordered his wife and youngest son to leave King’s Landing, did she understand what her family was? She knew what Jaime was. They hadn’t spoken during the Dragon Queen’s visit to the capital, but he’d spotted her watching him. She wasn’t what he expected; he still didn’t know what to make of her. The sight of her on that dragon still haunted his nightmares. She was everything he’d feared from Aerys, harsh and cruel when it suited her. And yet…she’d come with Ned Stark’s bastard to plead for an alliance. Against an army of the dead.

Who in the Seven hells was she?

Thinking about what awaited him in Winterfell made his head hurt. He’d considered turning around a hundred times, yet he was still riding north. There was nothing left for him in King’s Landing, if there ever had been. Because Jaime now saw the truth. Cersei’s only love was power. She’d become bitter and twisted since marrying Robert; he simply hadn’t wanted to see it. But was it that recent? How many times had Cersei threatened Tyrion as a child? Or anyone she felt was below them? Which, for Cersei, was everyone. She was his mirror, his other half, his twin. He’d loved her with every fiber of his being, sacrificing his entire future to remain at her side. He’d fathered her children, then suffered in silence as Robert held them and bought them gifts.

Cersei, the children, Tywin. All gone. Tyrion may be the only person in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms that might hear him out. _Not quite,_ he scolded himself, coaxing his exhausted horse over the next rise. _If she’s there, you might actually stand a chance of not being killed where you stand._

Jaime had been shocked to see her, back at Riverrun. He half expected her to be dead; after all, it seemed like a foolhardy quest at best to find Sansa Stark. Jaime sent Brienne of Tarth off with new armor and a sword, trying desperately to hang on to some shred of his lost honor. To discover that she’d actually _found_ the Stark girl and become her swornsword…his first reaction was relief. Brienne had survived. He was proud of her. Of course, finding Sansa put them on opposite sides of the war once more. He was surprised at how much that upset him. Stubborn wench had tried to return Oathkeeper, but he wouldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it. She was far more worthy than he would ever be.

Now he carried Oathkeeper’s sister sword on his hip. He would probably be useless in the field, but he could no longer stand by and do nothing. _Fuck loyalty,_ Brienne had said. Shocking, coming from her. It shook him out of the malaise he’d been in since returning from Riverrun. He’d hoped to curb some of Cersei’s wrath, but none of that mattered now. Not when an army of the dead sought to wipe out the living. If his sweet sister was too blind to see that, Jaime could no longer look away. He had to fight. Or at least try.

“Should be just over the hill,” Jaime muttered to himself, giving the horse an encouraging pat. It took him a solid month to travel from King’s Landing to just outside Winterfell. It felt longer than he remembered. Then again, Robert’s train traveled in the summer. This was the depths of winter. Jaime swore he could feel the cold seeping in, no matter how many layers he wore. It dulled his senses, his reflexes. He was starving. He’d brought a bag of gold with him, but that was only useful if there were people about. He hadn’t seen anyone in some time. Were they all at Winterfell? All the battles and armies had depleted stores up and down the continent; even without an undead army, many would starve.

Was a rusted uncomfortable chair worth all this suffering?

At the top of the rise, he spotted it. Winterfell. The old castle was imposing against the white of the snow. The wind created little tunnels of floating powder around the turrets and gates; it was eerie. Nearly there, Jaime pushed his horse faster, hoping the beast would make it. There hadn’t been any forage for days; the animal was on his last legs.

“Come on,” he muttered, pulling his scarf up over his face. “Faster!”

He must have caught the guards unawares; he wasn’t stopped until he was nearly to the gate. “Halt!”

Jaime gave the reigns one last wrench and the horse collapsed. He grunted in pain as his golden hand dug into his side as he fell; the scabbard of his sword hit him in the face. “Seven hells.”

Hands yanked him to his feet; Jaime blinked snow and ice out of his eyes. “Who are you?” a gruff voice demanded. “Where you from?”

Jaime sucked in a breath; it hurt. “I want…to speak…to Lady Sansa.” Brienne was sworn to Sansa; if anyone would hear him out, it was Sansa. He didn’t even know where the Dragon Queen was.

“Who the Seven hells are ya, that ya think ya can simply demand ta see the Lady of Winterfell?”

“Tell her Jaime Lannister has information for her.”

That got their attention. In moments, his sword and his golden hand were taken. He’d covered it with a glove before he left King’s Landing; it could have been used to identify him. He couldn’t be sure Cersei wouldn’t send someone after him to finish what she’d asked her monster to do. Jaime didn’t believe Cersei then, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that this would be the last straw. The last so-called betrayal.

Because—in Cersei’s eyes—choosing a vow and humanity over her was the most grievous sin of all.

At first, no one seemed to know what to do with him. He was led into the courtyard; it looked very different when he’d seen it last. Snow lay on the ground, cut by wheel tracks and booted feet. He spotted one set of animal prints, huge, canine…what was that? There were rumors of the bastard’s great white wolf; Jaime didn’t know how large direwolves could get. Tyrion would know. He always knew those facts that Jaime found inconsequential and boring. If it wasn’t a sword or a lance or Cersei, Jaime hadn’t cared about much of anything.

Now, here he was, in the heart of the home of his house’s sworn enemies, offering to fight to save them all from horrors. It was insane, but he had nowhere else to go.

No one wanted to remain in the bitter cold; Jaime was led into some nondescript anteroom, not far from the stables. Once there, he was locked inside, as if he were a threat. How much of a threat could he be? Half starved, weaponless, crippled as he was? Still, he didn’t begrudge the Northerners their caution. He wasn’t sure he’d trust himself either, if the situation was reversed.

Looking back, he should have known she would be the one to come. Brienne was the stubbornest female he’d ever met.

“Jaime.”

He was surprised how hearing his name on her lips made his heart race. He’d _missed_ her. “If I’d known this was what it took to get you to use my name, I’d have done it sooner.”

She stepped into the room, dressed in a leather jerkin, breeches and tunic. Her hair was dull and lifeless; she was thinner than he remembered. But her eyes. They were still the same brilliant blue they’d always been. Like sapphires. “What are you doing here?”

“I made a promise. Or do you not believe in those anymore, my lady?”

Brienne tilted her head, like she was still trying to figure him out. There was an emotion in her eyes that he couldn’t put his finger on. Was she even happy to see him? “You promised to bring the Lannister army.”

“Yes, well, my not so loving sister threatened to kill me, so I didn’t think that was wise.”

Brienne blinked, shocked. “But…” She quickly scanned his body. “Are you alright?”

Of all the things he expected her to say, none of them were that. “I made it here, didn’t I? Honestly, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Brienne frowned, stepping closer. She was taller than he; a fact that used to bother him. He was used to being the tallest man in the room, looking down on everyone else. He had to look _up_ to talk to her. He found that he quite liked it. “How?”

Jaime looked away from her eyes; he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her reaction to his story. But he told her. After all they’d been through, there was no one he trusted more than Brienne of Tarth. Somewhere along the way they’d built a friendship, a connection unlike any that Jaime had experienced before. It was like she saw the man he always _wanted_ to be, but he could never quite manage it. He half expected her to realize her mistake and dismiss him like everyone else did. Like Cersei did. Seven hells, he could still see Ned Stark’s face as he entered the throne room, Jaime sitting in the Iron Throne. Did he get thanks? Praise? No, Jaime Lannister received nothing but scorn from the likes of Ned Stark.

“So, if Lady Sansa doesn’t order me killed on sight, I’m here to fight,” he finished. “Not sure how much use I’ll be, but I’d be obliged if you didn’t let me get turned into one of those…things.” He suppressed a shudder, the image of the wight still fresh in his memory.

Brienne’s hand twitched, almost like she was going to reach out, then thought better of it. “It’s not Sansa you need to worry about.”

“So the Dragon Queen is here, eh? At least it’ll be a quick death.”

Brienne’s eyes flashed. “No one is killing you.”

She said it so vehemently, he blinked in surprise. “Brienne…”

He knew by the set of her jaw that there was no arguing with her. “If she _knew_ what her father was going to do, how you…”

He cut her off. “How do you know she doesn’t already?” In fact, Jaime was certain Daenerys _did_ know, because he’d told Tyrion. He’d needed to tell someone in those first few weeks; he knew no one else would understand. But Tyrion did. And his dear brother was now Hand of the Queen to the Mad King’s daughter. “I’m an oathbreaker, Brienne. I stabbed the Mad King in the back. Could you just forgive that, if someone did it to _your_ father?” Just let him impart Cersei’s plan and be done with it. If that saved even a small number, then it would be worth it. It was time for the account to come due. A Lannister always paid their debts, after all.

“Jaime…”

“I am not a good man,” he said with finality. “The sooner you accept that, the better for all of us. You’ll only wind up getting yourself killed.” He turned away, unwilling to see how much his words hurt her. Once upon a time, he’d cut her down without a thought. Now it made his chest ache. Brienne was one of the last genuinely good kind people left in the world. She shouldn’t lose that by defending him.

He felt her linger for a few moments more, then Brienne left. The door clicked shut behind her; Jaime sat heavily on the lone camp bed. Was it something the stable boys used when watching over an unruly horse? Jaime had never given the matter much thought. Now was a very poor time to start.

He could still leave. Brienne, he was sure, wouldn’t have locked the door behind her. He could creep out, steal one of the few remaining horses and ride away. Leave them all to their fate. And go where? Back to Casterly Rock? King’s Landing? Essos? White Harbor wasn’t that far; he could probably persuade his way onto a ship.

Jaime only considered that for a moment. The truth was, he had nowhere to go. This was his last hope. Hope for what, he couldn’t be sure. Redemption? Honor? His life was going to end, one way or another. The only variable was when and how.

So, he stayed. He didn’t know how much time passed; it didn’t matter anyway. A knock stirred him from his thoughts; a young boy of ten cautiously pushed open the door. He looked wary, hungry, but he carried a board of food in his hands. “Ser Jaime?”

“Yes?”

“I was asked to bring this to you.” The boy set the board in front of him, then hurried from the room. Food? He doubted the Starks or the Dragon Queen actually cared enough to feed him. Brienne. It had to be. Jaime shook his head in disbelief, but he accepted her gesture all the same. He was starving. It didn’t take him long to devour the small feast, every bite appreciated by his growling stomach.

The cold was starting to seep into the tiny room; there was no fire and no way to light one. What would happen now? Were they debating what to do with him? Fighting over who got to execute him? He’d wronged so many people; he wouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps the so-called King in the North would speak sense? He seemed the level headed sort. He certainly seemed more concerned about the real threat than anyone else. Jaime wondered what he’d seen, beyond the wall. He remembered that Tyrion liked and respected the bastard.

Tyrion had many soft spots that he shouldn’t.

The creaking of the door drew Jaime out of his head. A pair of guards appeared. “The Lady of Winterfell will see you, Kingslayer.”

Jaime forced himself to stand, setting his jaw. He would say his piece then allow the gods he wasn’t sure he still believed in decide his fate. He didn’t recognize the corridors the guards led him through; then again, he hadn’t paid much attention to his hosts the first time he visited. He’d been preoccupied, first with Cersei, then with the fate of the Stark boy. Fitting that it would end here. At least he’d gotten to see Brienne, one last time.

Northern men lined the hall as they entered. Faces glared at him with varying degrees of disgust or incredulity as he strode through the room. He refused to be cowed. He was still a Lannister, a lion of the Rock. He could almost hear Tywin’s voice in his head: _a lion should never be concerned with the opinions of sheep._

Seven hells, no wonder everyone hated the old bastard.

His judges came into focus. Sansa Stark, older now, harder, wiser, still beautiful. He was struck by how much she looked like Lady Catelyn. The same eyes stared at him; Jaime suppressed a shudder. He’d kept his vow. Brienne found Sansa. To her right…was that Arya? Jaime had long since given the girl up for dead, but there she was, a coldness in her steady gaze that she didn’t have before. To Sansa’s left sat Jon Snow, bundled in furs, his face drawn and tired. Beside him was Daenerys Targaryen, silver hair giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her gaze was steel; he could almost feel the hatred she kept coiled deep inside. Tyrion sat on the other side of the Mother of Dragons, looking more serious than Jaime could ever remember.

Against his will, his eyes sought _her._ Brienne stood just behind Sansa, dressed in her armor, Oathkeeper on her hip. He couldn’t read her expression. Her eyes though. The emotion he saw there reflected his own; unbidden, hope surged in his chest. He couldn’t afford to examine it too closely; he wasn’t even sure he’d be alive much longer, despite Brienne’s pledge.

To his surprise, it was Sansa who broke the silence. “Ser Jaime Lannister, we were not expecting you so soon.”

Jaime did not look away from her cold gaze. This woman had every reason to hate him. “Yes, well, I did not expect to be coming alone, my lady.”

“Where is the Lannister army?” Daenerys cut in. Clearly, the Dragon Queen could not stand not being the center of attention. At least, that was how it seemed to him. She was sitting a little closer to Ned Stark’s bastard than was strictly appropriate.

“They’re not coming,” he said flatly. His gaze found Tyrion, who looked crestfallen but not exactly surprised. The hall burst into low murmurs; he heard some of it directed at him.

“What do you mean, not coming?” Jon Snow asked.

“Tyrion, perhaps you could explain the machinations of our sister better than I.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Brienne’s mouth give a funny little twitch.

“I believe what my brother is trying to say is that Cersei played us all for fools. Including me.”

The anger is Tyrion’s voice surprised Jaime. What happened when Tyrion tried to talk Cersei around? Frankly, Jaime was surprised Cersei didn’t have the Mountain murder him on sight. Then again, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to kill Jaime either. In the end, it didn’t matter. Cersei’s schemes would only be relevant if anyone survived the war that was coming.

“Why have you come, Ser Jaime?” Silence fell as Sansa Stark’s clear cold voice carried over the din. “Cersei could have sent you here as a spy.”

 _Smart girl,_ Jaime thought, for once keeping his face neutral. His usual antics wouldn’t win him any favors here. Perhaps not every Stark was as thick as the trees they worshiped. “A valid question, my lady.”

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but Sansa held up her hand. Did Sansa know about Jaime’s history with Brienne? “I would like to hear it from Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne stepped back, her large hand tightening around the hilt of Oathkeeper. A wave of gratitude washed over Jaime; he’d asked her not to, but it meant a lot that Brienne still wanted to speak for him. It could jeopardize her place with the Starks, but she wanted to do it anyway. Stubborn woman.

Jaime found he could not look at Sansa, nor Jon, nor any of them. He stared into Brienne’s concerned sapphire eyes. “I made a promise. I intend to keep that promise.” The silence at his words was deafening. “I want to fight for the living. It is all I ask.” He knew he didn’t have the right to anyone’s forgiveness, nor did he expect it. Jon’s previous desire to put old rivalries aside long enough to defeat the dead was his only hope of salvation. He might not be much in a fight, but he knew about armies. More than Tyrion certainly. More than the Dragon Queen. Even more than the White Wolf, as he’d heard Jon called.

It might not be enough, but he was offering it all the same. He couldn’t stand by and watch the world burn. He never could. Instead, he did the only thing he could; he told them everything. Everything he knew about Cersei’s plan to send Euron Greyjoy to fetch the Golden Company and use them to take back the Seven Kingdoms. Not once did he use Cersei’s name. It tasted like ashes in his mouth; the look on her face as he walked away from her at last oddly liberating. He’d spent virtually all life devoted to her; he was finally free.

“Thank you for your honesty, Ser Jaime,” Sansa said.

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Daenerys demanded. “He’s an oathbreaker.”

“My Queen,” Tyrion cut in, “my brother is many things, but he’s not a liar. I had hoped the family meant more to my sister, but it seems I was wrong.” They shared a look and that’s when Jaime realized Tyrion knew about Cersei’s delicate condition.

Jaime appreciated Tyrion’s support, but he knew Targaryens. Daenerys wasn’t convinced. Jon Snow suggested they retreat to decide what needed to be done.

Jaime was only slightly surprised as Arya Stark stepped forward and led him out of the Great Hall. She was so different from the girl he only faintly remembered. Not very tall, she was dressed in breeches, tunic and leather jerkin. It reminded him forcefully of Ned Stark. There was a dagger on her hip and a thin sword bumping her right leg as she walked. There was a cool confidence about her that unnerved him.

“Brought me out here to kill me?” he said matter of factly, nodding at her dagger.

She fixed him with calculating eyes. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it at the Twins. You’re not on my list.”

“List?”

“Your sister’s on it.”

 _Oh._ Yes, he could imagine the Stark girl wanted Cersei dead. As for himself, he tried not to think about Cersei’s fate. When he thought of her now, he felt nothing. She might even be carrying his child, yet he still felt nothing. The pull—nay, the obsession—she once had on him was gone. She’d shown her true colors at last. Or perhaps she always had, and Jaime had been too blinded to see it. For most of his life, she was his whole world.

He ignored the implications and asked something else. “The Twins? Walder Frey? That was you?”

Arya nodded. “The North remembers.”

“Yes, it does.” He actually fought back a grin. “Glad someone got the old bastard.” Jaime certainly had no love for Walder Frey or any of his kin.

Arya surprised him by grinning back. “Perhaps you’re not so bad after all, even if you are a Lannister.” She stopped in front of a door he’d never seen. “Here we are.”

“And where is here?”

“You’ll see.” Arya opened the door and stepped aside, so Jaime could enter. Once he did, it slammed shut behind him. He didn’t need to tug on the handle to know that the little she-wolf had locked him in. Fantastic. He’d traded one cell for another.

The room was dark aside from the glowing fireplace. It took his eyes a moment to adjust; it wasn’t like any cell he’d ever been in. There was some furniture, a couple of chairs, a low table. It was unlike any room Jaime had ever seen.

“No one is going to attack you, Ser Jaime. Not today.”

Jaime nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice came from near the fire; as he stepped closer, he realized what he’d taken for a simple chair was much more elaborate. Solid, with a straight wooden back and…wheels? Why did a chair need wheels?

“The same reason you have a golden hand.”

And just like that, Jaime’s heart dropped. _The Stark boy._ The one he’d tried to kill by throwing him out a window. The little intrepid climber had been ten years old, but that hadn’t mattered. Only Cersei mattered. Cersei and their children. How could Bran Stark still be alive when all his children were dead? Perhaps this was his punishment.

“I am sorry about Myrcella and Tommen,” Bran continued. His voice was oddly flat, deeper than Jaime remembered. He’d be a young man now, Jaime realized with a start.

“How did you…?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It appears I have some time.” As much as he dreaded seeing the Stark boy again, Jaime had to admit he was curious. The last he’d heard, both Bran and Rickon had been killed by that Greyjoy cunt…Theon, was it? He’d sided with Targaryen girl, along side his sister. Now Bran Stark was in front of him…not whole, but certainly not dead. Jaime moved around the wheeled chair and settled in the chair across from it. Bran stared into the fire, hands folded in his lap, which was covered in furs. The maesters had warned that—even if he woke—he might never walk again. It seemed that was the case.

Shame unlike he’d never known washed over him. Of all the terrible things he’d done, pushing the Stark boy was the one he regretted the most. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. What could he say? Nothing could bring back the use of the boy’s legs. Nothing could bring his parents and brothers back. Jaime wasn’t directly responsible for all that had befallen the boy, but his family was. His father. His sister. His children. Perhaps it would be better to just march back down to the Great Hall and demand that Jon Snow remove his head.

“Do you think I hate you?” Bran said suddenly.

“You should.”

“I don’t,” the young man said firmly. Almost like he was speaking with someone else’s voice. “This is what I’m meant to be.”

“And what is that?”

“The Three Eyed Raven.”

“What is that, exactly?”

Bran finally looked at him. Jaime shuddered. “I see things. I see everything. The past, the present, hints of what may come. I saw you approaching Winterfell.”

Jaime might have made a quip, but he’d seen dragons in the flesh. He’d seen them turn men to ash. He’s seen the dead walk. If this boy saw him approaching Winterfell, then he was going to believe it. “That’s fairly unnerving.”

“It does take some getting used to. But you made the right choice, Jaime Lannister.”

“For once,” Jaime muttered under his breath.

“You’re better than you think. She sees it too.”

“Who? I’m fairly sure your sisters want me dead and as for the Targaryen girl…”

“Brienne of Tarth. She’s just outside the door.”

Jaime’s eyes went wide; there was a knock on the heavy oak door. Before he could rise, the door opened, and Brienne stepped through it. She paused when she saw Bran. “Forgive me, Lord Stark. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

For a moment, Jaime thought he saw a flash of an exasperated boy underneath the…whatever Bran was now. “It’s quite alright, my lady. I’m sure Ser Jaime is tired and hungry from his journey.”

Jaime stood and followed Brienne out of the room. Once clear of the door, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something about that boy disconcerted him. “So, am I bound for a cell or the block?” he joked.

Brienne rounded on him, looking both hard and scandalized. “Neither. And this hardly seems like the time for japes, Ser Jaime.”

“We’re back to ‘ser’ now? How disappointing.” In spite of everything, he rather liked the way she said his name. So precious few did.

She grabbed his elbow and tugged him down the corridor. He was surprised when she pushed him into a hidden alcove. “You’re lucky to be alive, and you think all of this is a joke?”

“Why do you care so much, _my lady_ ,” he shot back, lifting his chin. Gods, he’d missed sparring with her. With words, with swords, it didn’t matter. She didn’t take any of his shit and he loved that.

She blinked, momentarily stunned speechless. “You…I…you risked your life to warn us about the Queen,” she said finally. Jaime didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched on the word “queen.” “Of course, I care. You’re an honorable man.”

“No, I’m not and we both know it.”

“Then why come all the way here?” she demanded. “You could have fled to Essos; you could have gone anywhere.” _You could have stayed with your sister,_ he saw in her eyes. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. Jaime knew her too well.

He could still feel the metaphorical knife twist in his gut as Cersei told him that Euron was off to fetch the Golden Company. Humanity stood on a precipice and she was worried about the Iron Throne? Gods, Jaime despised that wretched chair! First Aerys, then Robert, now Cersei. It destroyed. That was all it did. That was when he realized his entire life was a lie, a joke. Cersei wasn’t his other half; she was a stranger. He owed her nothing.

“I’ve never been a coward, Brienne.”

Her eyes softened. “No, you haven’t.”

Jaime wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. In the days immediately following the loss of his hand, he’d wanted to die. Brienne reminded him that there were still things worth living for. At the time, he’d assumed that was Cersei, but now, he was wondering if it was something else. “You still haven’t answered my question. What’s to be done with me?”

“Room and board here in the castle. I suggested you could help me train these Northmen.”

“Sounds like a jail.”

Brienne frowned, shaking her head. “You’re not a prisoner, Jaime. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And again, I ask. Why?” The way he felt when he was around her; it was hard to describe. She saw right through him, but that wasn’t it. She saw the man he’d always wanted to be. The man he thought had died with Aerys. Gods, Jaime had been little more than a boy then! How would he have reacted to someone like Brienne?

With scorn, no doubt. He’d have been like all those other men, looking down on her, underestimating her. The way he’d treated her in the beginning…gods, he was the worst sort of man. How could she look at him like this? Like he _mattered._ Like he mattered to _her._

_It’s yours. It will always be yours._

Jaime had once said that about Oathkeeper, but he’d lied. He didn’t give a damn about the bloody sword; he cared about _her._ He cared about Brienne, cared what she thought of him. He couldn’t look away from her homely face, his eyes pleading with her. _Say something,_ he begged silently. _Anything._

They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like hours; for once, Jaime was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say or do. Finally, he saw her chin tremble, then she was gone. Brienne turned on her heel, footfalls heavy, leaving Jaime alone once more.

* * *

 

She gasped as the cold hit her in the face. Brienne had spent many months here in the North, but she would never grow accustomed to the _bitter_ cold. The wind crept through every tiny space and crack of her armor, seeping into her very skin.

It was exactly what she needed.

She needed to move, to put as much space between her and Jaime Lannister as possible. How could so much have changed in a few short hours? After what happened in the Dragonpit, she never really expected to see him again. Except perhaps across a battlefield. On opposing sides. The very idea made her chest hurt. Fighting against Jaime was the last thing she wanted. She’d rather face an entire army of the dead than face him that way.

Now he was _here._ In Winterfell. Bedraggled, half starved, nearly frozen. Even then, he was the most handsome man Brienne had ever known. The moment she’d overheard that a stranger claiming to be the Kingslayer arrived, she left Pod gaping like fish out of water. They’d been training in the yard, Pod and a handful of other young Northerners. She sheathed Oathkeeper and practically ran for the stables. She refused to believe it until she’d seen him for herself.

His hair was a bit longer, his beard had grown back, now flecked with more gray than she remembered. Which only made him more breathtaking, not less. The moment his eyes met hers, she was lost. His eyes had been filled with resignation, even despair, though she knew he would never admit it. Yet they lit up when he saw her. The urge to wrap her arms around him was nearly unbearable; she fought to control it. Jaime appearing at Winterfell was suspicious enough, and without the army that had been promised? She knew immediately that something was very wrong.

Cersei had tried to kill him. Brienne didn’t pretend to understand what Jaime felt for his sister, but she knew those feelings ran deep. The idea that he could feel that way about anyone else was laughable. At least, that’s what Brienne always told herself whenever her traitorous thoughts drifted back to him. Though he hadn’t known it, Jaime had been her constant companion all along her search for the Stark girls. Jaime and Catelyn. She couldn’t let either of them down, especially Jaime. The look on his face as he presented her with Oathkeeper would remain with her for the rest of her days.

Jaime risked everything to warn them. Brienne knew that, even if no one else did. _You love him,_ Cersei had said. At the time, Brienne thought the very notion ridiculous, but she’d been fooling herself. It wasn’t until she rode away from him that fateful day at King’s Landing that she realized the truth. Cersei had been right all along. She’d fallen in love with Jaime. It had become a comfort and a burden.

Riverrun had almost been too much. She’d half convinced herself that it was all in her head, that Jaime was merely another knight. But no. Realizing that she might have to fight him nearly broke her. She practically _ran_ out of his tent, praying to the Seven that he didn’t realize just how silly she was. _It’s yours. It’s always been yours._ Those words still haunted her dreams.

Damn him.

Brienne pulled her cloak tighter around herself; she’d lost track of where she was going. Reliving her journey with Jaime was an exquisite tale of self-flagellation, her own personal hell. Snowflakes stuck to her hair; her nose was numb. Yet she didn’t stop. She couldn’t let him see how deeply she felt for him. If he realized how much he affected her, she would never be able to face him again. It was one thing to love him from afar; it was another for him to mock her for it. That she couldn’t abide.

 

* * *

 

_“You care for him, don’t you?” Lady Sansa asked gently._

_Brienne stood away from the council, deep in thought. He’d asked her not to speak for him, but how could she not? He was not the man everyone believed him to be. She could overhear Jon and Queen Daenerys debating, while Tyrion kept quiet. Would his own brother turn his back?_

_“You said he was kind to you,” Sansa persisted. “But it was more than that, wasn’t it?”_

_Brienne laid her hand on the pommel of Oathkeeper. Jaime had gifted her the priceless weapon to get Sansa and Arya home, to keep his vow to their mother. “It is…hard to explain,” Brienne said at last._

_“You don’t have to. I saw the way he looked at you. He cares for you.”_

_Brienne’s eyes snapped up, stunned. Jaime care for her? “My lady…”_

_“It’s alright, Brienne. We all need something to live for in these times.” She looked at her brother, a bit wistful. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Jon was quite smitten with the Dragon Queen; whether she was worthy of his affections was something Sansa was still deciding. Their family had just reunited; she wasn’t fond of this interloper. But there were more important things. Like the news that Cersei had betrayed them. Sansa, for one, wasn’t surprised. If anyone had asked her opinion, she could have told them that Cersei would never hold to such a pact. Cersei cared only about one person, herself._

_“She tried to kill him,” Brienne said quietly. “The Qu…Cersei. Jaime said she tried to kill him.”_

_Again, Sansa wasn’t surprised by this information. If Cersei wasn’t going to send the Lannister forces north, then there was only one thing for her to do. Wait for the White Walkers to destroy them and take what was left. If the Walkers didn’t get to her first._

_Sansa touched the other woman’s arm. “We won’t let anything happen to him,” she promised. She’d make Jon see sense. Oathbreaker or not, Jaime Lannister had experience they badly needed. This wasn’t the time for grudges and back biting. It was why she’d quietly had Arya take Ser Jaime to Bran. If Bran was at peace with the Kingslayer’s presence, then that was enough for Sansa._

_As if on cue, Arya returned. Her sister nodded once. Sansa crossed the room, Brienne on her heels, ever the shadow, ever faithful. Brienne never asked for anything; Sansa could do this for her. What would her mother think? Sansa wasn’t sure, but she was here. Catelyn was not. She believed that Ser Jaime was telling the truth. It was time to stop living in the past and start planning for the future. It was the only hope they had._

 

* * *

 

“Have you seen Lady Brienne?” Jaime asked a lad he didn’t know. He didn’t know any of these people aside from the Starks and his brother. And the Hound. How that bastard was still alive Jaime didn’t know. Podrick had told him about Brienne taking the Hound on in single combat. He was shocked. Not that Brienne won, but that she’d managed to find Arya at all. Jaime had long since given her up for dead. He was also deeply sorry he missed that fight. He would have enjoyed watching Brienne give the Hound a taste of his own medicine.

Brienne missing seemed to be a constant state of affairs his first few days in Winterfell. In theory, he was supposed to be helping her train he motley crew of Northerners who’d flocked to the castle. And yet, every time he appeared in the training yard, she was either not there or mumbled some excuse and took off quickly, claiming some other duty. Watches, meal times, scouting parties, all seemed to claim her attention. Brienne either wanted nothing to do with him—which Jaime thought was unlikely—or she was avoiding him. But why? She’d been quick enough to see him when he first arrived. She seemed pleased to see him, in fact. But now, he wasn’t so sure. Had he done something to offend her?

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this out of sorts, brother.”

Jaime stopped. “Tyrion.” Aside from Brienne, his brother seemed to be the only other person who could tolerate his presence. Despite Lady Sansa’s acquiescence, most of the Northerners still looked at him suspiciously.

Tyrion moved closer; Jaime was struck by how settled Tyrion looked. Power suited him. Jaime realized how ironic it was; he was the only one of his siblings that didn’t care about power. To their father’s never ending frustration. Tywin wanted nothing more than for Jaime to embrace his role as his heir; that wasn’t who Jaime was. Power was fleeting, essentially meaningless. Jaime wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t power.

“How is the training going?”

“As well as can be expected. We lack proper arms and equipment, but these Northmen…they have heart.”

“Heart will not stop a wight.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Do we stand a chance?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking your Dragon Queen? Seems to me fire might be our only hope.”

“She’s not mine.”

Jaime wasn’t fooled. Daenerys might only have eyes for the bastard, but Jaime knew his brother. Tyrion was smitten with her; he always loved where he shouldn’t. It was something they had in common. “If we can’t hold the castle, we can retreat to the Neck,” he said, any desire to tease his little brother melting away. His feelings toward Tyrion fluctuated without rhyme or reason; Jaime still carried the guilt about Tywin. “Let’s see them get through the swamps and bogs.”

“If they don’t freeze over.”

Jaime didn’t have anything to say to that. There was a very good chance they were all going to die; which was why it was important to appreciate the time they had left. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“You’re quite fond of her, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“Brienne of Tarth,” Tyrion replied patiently. “You look for her every time you enter a room.”

“We have…history together.”

“I hope you work things out. It may be hard to believe, but I would like to see my brother happy.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been happy.”

“You deserve to be, Jaime.”

“As do you, Tyrion.”

Jaime was about to leave, when Tyrion called him back. “You realize that if we survive, we’ll have to face her. Cersei.”

“Of course, I know that,” Jaime snapped. “Do you think me a simpleton?” Tyrion had been the clever one when they were children. Jaime picked things up slower, but eventually he did learn.

“You know I don’t,” Tyrion replied, hurt. “Are you ready for that?”

“Am I ready to attack someone possibly carrying my child, you mean.”

Tyrion nodded. “So, you know.”

“I know nothing. You should know better than anyone that lies are just as likely to fall from her lips as the truth. Even if it is true…it doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Jaime shook his head. “No.” He was surprised at how sure his voice sounded. Cersei had been his weakness for so long; it was a strange feeling, but a welcome one. Someone else occupied his thoughts.

“I’m proud of you, brother.”

“I don’t need your praise, Tyrion.”

“No, you seek someone else’s. I’ve kept you from her for too long. Go, Jaime. Find her. Before it’s too late for all of us.”

Tyrion’s sentiment was all well and good, but where _was_ Brienne? The training yard, the stables, the Great Hall, he searched them all. He hoped she hadn’t gone out on patrol, searching for signs of the army of the dead. They were already hearing rumors of wights south of the Wall; fortunately, the North was vast. They still had time. Not much, but Jaime wasn’t going to waste another moment of it.

It was getting late. And it was _cold_ out there. Jaime had spent too many nights on his ride north huddled in abandoned shacks and barns; Winterfell was the first warm place he’d been since leaving King’s Landing. It would be all too easy to lose a nose or a finger or worse out in the cold.

He cursed himself silently. He just couldn’t stop needling her, demanding more than she was willing to give. He couldn’t shake the idea that he was the one who’d driven her away. Their relationship had always been fraught to one extent or another, a casualty of their divided loyalties. Yet he knew deep down that she was the one person in this godsforsaken world who understood him. Every time he found himself at a crossroads, he saw _her_ face. Not Cersei’s. He didn’t know when that had stopped. Before they returned to King’s Landing, short a hand? Jaime tried to go back to the way things were, but there was no going back. Not when Brienne’s warm sapphire eyes gently prodded him to do what was right.

It wasn’t her fault that he refused their call for so long.

Gods, he’d been a fool. He’d had a lot of time to think on the long way North. At first, he told himself that he was doing this to right a wrong, to keep some shred of his lost honor. Even that was a convenient lie. Brienne was at the other end of the road. Thoughts of her kept him going, knowing he would get to see her again, even if was only to say goodbye.

At least this time they would be on the same side.

“Ser Jaime?”

He stopped, slightly stunned that someone was actually speaking to him. “Yes?”

“I saw her—the Lady Brienne—walking a bit ago,” the young man said. He wore a falcon badge on his cloak, a knight of the Vale.

“Where?”

“I believe she was walking toward the godswood. She seemed quite…distracted, ser.”

“Thank you.” Jaime hurried back to his new quarters and retrieved his heavy black cloak. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. With luck, he wouldn’t be out in the cold for long. Trying to find the godswood was another matter entirely; Jaime simply hadn’t paid that much attention the first time he visited this place. He’d been preoccupied with other things.

He was forced to ask two different people for help; in another life, he wouldn’t have bothered. Everything that Jaime had once been was undone; he was still figuring out who he was now. He was completely untethered for the first time; it was unsettling. The only person he would even consider talking to about it was currently avoiding him.

Snow crunched under his boots; there was more in his hair. It hadn’t stopped snowing for a week; it was cold enough that the fabled hot spring at Winterfell had frozen over. He found Brienne at last, head bowed in front of the ancient weirwood tree. He only knew it was her by the cropped blonde hair, dusted with snow. She wore no armor, wrapped in a cloak and thick furs. Nerves liked he’d not felt since he was a boy rose up in him; he realized with a start he’d never actually done this before. Attempted to woo a lady. He was completely out of his depth.

“Hiding isn’t very ladylike,” he said, stepping as closely as he dared. She wore Oathkeeper on her hip; it was impossible to gauge her mood. She’d be just as likely to take a swing at him as not.

“I’m not hiding. And I’m not a lady,” she snapped. Gods, how had he found her? This was the last place Brienne expected him to be, especially in this weather.

“Convert to the faith of the Starks, have you?” He was surprised at how angry she sounded; suddenly, this felt like a very bad idea. Jaime didn’t understand what had changed.

Brienne turned, her face a picture of annoyance. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“I never was one for religion, I’ll grant you,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. If she was going to be antagonistic, then so could he. “But these trees seem to be the most sensible lot. They don’t demand anything of you, you see.”

“Ser Jaime…”

Ser again. He wanted to hear his _name_ , damn it. A vain hope, judging by the hardness in her eyes. The one thing he still believed in, ruined by his own arrogance. He sobered. “It was wrong of me to needle you so,” he said, voice soft. “Please accept my apologies, my lady. It won’t happen again.” Before he could change his mind, he turned and started to walk away. He’d come here to sort things out, but he wouldn’t place himself where he wasn’t wanted. Not again.

Brienne blinked, watching Jaime’s retreating back in shock. Did he just apologize? To her? Here _she’d_ been avoiding _him_ and he was apologizing? It didn’t make sense. Emotions warred within her; she didn’t know what to do. But she couldn’t allow him to walk away. Not again.

“Jaime, wait.”

Jaime stopped, surprised by how hard his heart thudded. The ache in her voice cut him to the quick. No one had never said his name like that. No one ever sounded that vulnerable. Not with him. “Yes, my lady?”

Brienne moved closer, feeling her cheeks heat a little despite the cold. She wasn’t good at this sort of thing. “I, uh…”

“Perhaps we should talk inside? I don’t particularly fancy losing my _other_ hand.”

Brienne nodded. “Yes.” She followed him back along the winding path; it struck her that he still did not have proper attire for the cold. She would talk to Podrick about remedying that in the morning. The short walk back to the main keep didn’t help her nerves; she still didn’t know precisely what she wanted to say. She was terrified he would laugh at her. She didn’t know which was worse, not knowing what—if anything—he felt for her or having him make fun of her.

Jaime led them into the first empty room he found; it was the same sitting room he’d visited with Bran days ago. The young man was nowhere to be found now, thank the gods. “I don’t think I’ll ever be properly warm again,” Jaime said dryly as he removed his wet cloak. It was awkward with only one hand, but he managed it.

“It does take some getting used to,” Brienne agreed, removing her heavy cloak as well.

“Getting used to? I don’t know how these Northerners live like this. My _bones_ are cold.” He caught her flush in the firelight. “But I believe you were going to say something else?”

Brienne bit her lip unconsciously, more nervous than she ever remembered being. Facing down arrogant suitors in her father’s hall was easier than this. _Start simple._ “You were right. I was avoiding you. For that, I apologize.”

He offered her that soft smile that made her stomach flip. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She scrunched up her nose in a way that shouldn’t be adorable, but it was. He’d missed her feistiness. “If you’re just going to mock…”

Jaime surprised even himself by reaching out and catching her arm. “I’m at a bit of a loss, Brienne. I’ve never done this before. Old habits are hard to break, wouldn’t you agree?”

She looked down at where he held her. Firmly, but not possessively. His hand was like ice, the coolness seeping through the layers of her shirt. “Done what?” she asked, wincing inwardly at how her voice quivered.

“Spoken to a lady I admire. In more ways than one.” Objectively, she wasn’t a beauty. He knew that. But that had long since ceased to matter. He’d dreamed of her eyes the entire trip north, before that even. It was her good, kind, honorable soul that spoke to him. Haunted him. No matter what he did, she was a part of him now. He needed her to know that, before the end of all things.

Her frown deepened. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“It seemed like there was something you wanted to say earlier.”

She swallowed. “Not really. I just couldn’t let you walk away. Not again.” They’d walked away from each other so many times; she didn’t know what to do with him _right here._ In truth, she never expected this. Even if by some miracle, the North survived the army of the dead, she expected to see Jaime across a battlefield, not at her side. Certainly not looking at her like _that._

“We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Her lips quirked up, ever so slightly. “I’m not used to being on the same side as you. We’re always…”

“Saying goodbye?” he finished for her. “Never really cared for that.”

“Is this goodbye?”

“Do you want it to be?”

For the first time, she shook her head. Firmly. “No. I’d much rather fight beside you than against you.”

“On that, my lady, we agree.” He let her go, but he didn’t relinquish the space between them. He was pleased when Brienne held her ground. Always stubborn, his Brienne. “I’m not so sure your Northern friends agree.”

“It was Lady Sansa who spoke up for you with Daenerys,” Brienne replied.

“Sansa? Unexpected. Very unexpected.”

“She…” Brienne flushed. “She did it for me. I wanted to, but you’d asked me not to. I couldn’t stand by and listen to them debate your fate, so I…”

“Abandoned your post?” Jaime teased gently.

“Certainly not! I was merely…out of earshot.”

“That doesn’t explain why Sansa would do something for you.”

“She asked about her mother,” Brienne said slowly. “About how I came to be in Lady Catelyn’s service. I told her everything.” Not _everything_. Not Brienne’s closely guarded feelings. Clearly, she hadn’t been as successful at hiding them as she thought. “She sent me to King’s Landing because she knew you would be there.”

Gods, Jaime didn’t know if the Starks’ gods were mocking him or if he was blessed. Brienne had been exactly what he needed. Jaime had been appalled and horrified when he saw the smoldering sept. The very thing Jaime had killed the Mad King for, Cersei had used to destroy her enemies. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. And then Tommen! Tommen, the last of his children, not that he’d ever been much of a father to any of them. He couldn’t, forced to maintain the pretense they were Robert’s. Still, he grieved their loss.

And yet, faced with Cersei as queen, he did what he always did. Turned a blind eye and followed. Cersei always led, even when they were children. He’d been in her shadow literally from birth. He did try to curb some of her worst impulses—Riverrun and Lady Olenna came to mind—yet he couldn’t face the truth. That his sister was a monster. That she didn’t love him, not as he had her. Now, he understood that what he’d felt wasn’t love at all. Obsession, narcissism. They’d told each other so many lies over the years to justify themselves; they defied men and gods for those lies.

Seeing Brienne in King’s Landing shook him. Hearing her impassioned words jerked him out of his compliancy. He’d tried so hard to convince Cersei to join in the Great War, but he failed. Now they were enemies. He had no doubt that if they ever saw each other again, one or both of them would die.

“My apologies for my behavior back in King’s Landing,” he replied. “You didn’t deserve that.” He scrubbed his hand over his beard. “I tried to convince her. I truly did. Argued until she threw me out. It’s not really a relief to see that my little brother didn’t fare any better.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jaime. We were all…not our best selves.” Seeing Jaime again had thrown her as well. It was a special kind of torture, one she hadn’t realized could exist.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” It had taken him some time to work it out, but he’d had a lot of time to think.

“I don’t understand.”

He glanced away. “I was protecting you, Brienne. From Cersei.” There, he’d finally said her name. The specter that lay between them.

“Cersei?”

Jaime growled under his breath. “Do I need to spell it out for you, my lady? Cersei _knew_. Gods, she knew before I did! She wouldn’t hesitate to use you to hurt me, especially if she felt you were a threat. And I don’t mean with that,” he continued, pointing at Oathkeeper. He stopped, looking into Brienne’s confused sapphire eyes. They were truly stunning in the firelight.

“How could I be a threat to her? She’s a _queen_ and I’m…no one.”

“Oh, you are very much a threat, my lady,” Jaime said, stepping closer. She was taller than he—just a little—he liked looking up at her. “With this.” He placed his left hand lightly on her chest, right where her heart was. She was wearing too many layers to feel it, but he saw her tremble. She stared at him with huge eyes, the disbelief written all over her face.

Oh, the gods were cruel! Brienne was rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away. How often had she dreamed of Jaime saying such things? Those troublesome, girlish dreams that she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried? He’d wheedled his way into her heart; the longing she felt tore at her. Because it flew in the face of everything Brienne knew to be true. Jaime’s love belonged to another and it always would.

“Brienne,” he said softly. “Say something. Curse me. Cut me down with that sword. Just don’t leave me here alone.”

Words caught in her throat. It closed painfully. He couldn’t mean it. It didn’t make sense. “Jaime,” she croaked. “I…”

She didn’t believe him. He could see it in her eyes. And why would she? Throughout their time together, all he’d ever done was go on and on about Cersei. Men had done nothing but mock and belittle her; she had no reason to trust his words. Words were empty, fleeting. Jaime had too many regrets in his life; he refused to allow Brienne to be another. If she didn’t trust his words, then actions would have to do. “I’m going to kiss you,” he declared, giving her a chance to push him away. When she didn’t move, he closed the space between them and brushed his lips over her fuller, chapped ones. Her skin was warm, dry from the cold, but it didn’t matter. The feeling of _rightness_ flowed all the way to his toes; he couldn’t stop himself from stealing a second more lingering kiss.

Brienne’s heart thudded loudly in her ears; warmth rushed through her. Jaime was _so close_ , his breath ghosted over her cheek, his lips were warm. She felt his hand touch her cheek, his fingertips rough but not unpleasant. Her eyes snapped open the moment he moved way, just enough for her to miss him. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake. Instinctively, she moved, leaning into his touch and covered his mouth with hers. She had no idea what she was doing, but Jaime didn’t seem to mind. He let out a low growl as he snaked his right arm around her thick waist and held her close. Their kiss was tentative and searching, but perfect all the same.

Brienne leaned her forehead against Jaime’s, a deep flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. Part of her wanted to flee in embarrassment, but the rest of her couldn’t let him go. He held her so delicately, like she was precious. She’d never been held like that. She couldn’t look at him, so she closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled of smoke and leather and something else she couldn’t define.

“Do you believe me now?” he murmured softly.

“I want to,” she replied, just as softly.

She had her eyes closed. He couldn’t have that. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. “I will do whatever you ask of me, Brienne. I came here for _you._ ”

“No, you came because it was the right thing to do.”

“Perhaps, but I only realized that because of you. Somehow you see the man I always wanted to be, Brienne. He was lost, years ago. Forever, or so I thought.”

“I’ve always known there was honor in you, Jaime.”

He offered her a knowing smirk. “Perhaps not always. I saw the way you looked down on me when Lady Catelyn let me go.”

Brienne flushed again. Gods, she’d been so naïve then! She saw the world in absolutes, honor, dishonor, right, wrong, black, white. Jaime forced her to open her eyes and see the shades of gray. Listening to him describe the truth about the Mad King…she couldn’t hate him after that. He’d risked everything to save so many people, never once demanding the credit that was rightfully his. “You were right about something then,” she replied, gathering her courage. She could only pray he didn’t laugh. “We can’t choose who we love.”

Jaime’s breath caught. Was she saying what he hoped she was saying? “And who do you love, Brienne?”

Emboldened by the hopeful look in his eyes, she stroked his beard gently. It scratched against her skin, but she liked it. This was Jaime as she first knew him, a bit grayer perhaps, but _hers._ “It’s always been you.”

She was so gentle; he craved more of her. But he refused to rush this. Brienne deserved better than that. “Apologies, my lady, for taking so long to catch up.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Jaime couldn’t help himself; he leaned in to capture her lips again. She responded with clumsy enthusiasm, using her considerable strength to hold him close. Let the wretched Night King come. Jaime wasn’t letting this go, not again.


End file.
